The Old Man and the Sea

The old man sat on the sand, under the shade of a coconut tree, with a story book in hand to enjoy as the waves gently caressed the shores. He had reached a point in the story when putting down the book was almost impossible and, with a whole lot of time in hand, the man thought of finishing the same before heading back to the hotel. He lit a smoke and took one look at the beach before he started flipping the pages of the book. He saw a toddler sitting on the shore, with the tiny strands of his hair blowing in the wind, playing in the wet sands, dirtying his hands and clothes. The man got reminded of a similar scene in his life a long time ago.

It was his kid’s first birthday and the family had gone to Goa to celebrate the big day. His kid loved sitting in the sand and playing with the plastic shovel and bucket, picking up sand from one place and then pouring it at another spot while the mother was trying her hand at building a castle but was failing miserably, much to the merriment of the father and daughter. The man had just bought a camera and a Kodak film reel that he fitted in the slot in the back of the small magic box. This was the moment and the day he wanted to capture for eternity and out came the camera from the pouch and he started clicking candid pictures of the kid and the sea relentlessly. In no time, he had taken over thirty pictures and then he decided to keep the last six for the evening when the cake would be cut in the hotel room. A specially designed cake in the shape of a bunny had been ordered, balloons and streamers were hung across the room and the family wore their bright coloured clothes along with birthday caps. A candle was lit on the cake and the kid enjoyed the cutting of the cake and tasting it too. The man took six or seven pictures of the evening party before they all retired for the day. The next morning, the man went to the photo shop in the market nearby and handed over the camera to the man at the counter asking for express printing. He was keen to show his family the pictures of the beach and the birthday party. The storekeeper opened the pouch and took out the camera and then proceeded to take out the film roll to develop it. His mouth went agape and he told the man…I am sorry but you seem to have made a mistake in loading the film roll. The film was not fixed properly to the slots on the roller which means that all your clicks were blank. There is no picture captured in the film and now that we have opened it up, it is exposed to light and is a complete waste.  The man was aghast and requested the man to check if he could develop a few pictures for there was no way to capture those precious moments again. The man just shook his head and handed over the roll and the camera to the man who walked back not knowing how to explain his blunder. All that remains of the first birthday is a huge card sent by the kid’s uncle that the mother had preserved over the years.

But, today was another day and time when he did not need a separate film roll. His automatic digital camera that lay beside him did the trick. He picked up the camera and zoomed in to capture some beautiful moments of the toddler playing in the sand. A bright smile came to his wrinkled face and he got up and went to the shack nearby to get himself a beer to celebrate the good old times.

The midday sun was blazing but the old man was well protected under the canopy of the coconut trees and he got busy with the thriller in his hand. He always preferred the physical books even though his kid had sent him the latest Kindle from the US of A. After a while he heard the sound of the waves loud and clear. He knew it was high tide and people on the beach were slowly making their way up the higher slope of sand. His eyes caught a young couple who looked very much out of place in this beach where people were either in their beach clothes and others who wanted to tan their bodies had no more than a towel covering them as they lay on the beach chairs with their bums looking up at the blue sky. This young man was wearing a well creased trouser, full-sleeved shirt and his young maiden was in a silk saree, all of their clothes looked new. The old man realized these two were newly weds and were here on their honeymoon.  He picked up his camera as the duo gently walked past him with the waves rolling in with gusto. With every click of the camera, his mind did a rewind of five years and by the time they walked away, he remembered his life almost forty years ago.

They had been married after a year’s courtship and while his better half had saved on her office leaves for the wedding and the honeymoon to follow, he had no leaves left. He barely managed three days of casual leaves for the wedding and on the fourth day, off he went to work. They were fortunate to have some good friends who saw the young lass’ tragedy and they decided to take matters in their own hands. One of them booked an overnight train from Kolkata to Cuttack for a weekend honeymoon to the eastern coast of Puri. But then as luck would have it, the late evening train on Friday was cancelled and, without confirmed tickets, they boarded the next early morning train and somehow landed at Cuttack from where the friend drove them to the bus stop to take public bus to Chilika. The young couple, dressed in terry-cot shirt and trouser and silk saree, were overjoyed at the prospect and somehow reached the beautiful lake, walked along the long shore and even took a ride in a boat. Now the challenge was to return to Bhubaneswar where their hotel was booked. They did not have enough money to pay the tourist cabs and public transport was infrequent. The man hailed a big truck carrying goods on the highway and somehow the good driver allowed them to sit in the cabin as he drove to the capital city. Climbing into a full-sized cabin of a Tata truck for the lady in silk saree was something she never forgot or forgave the man for but, much later in life, laughed at the whole episode as a honeymoon trip worth remembering.

The old man was now feeling hungry and so he went into the shack and ordered his usual sea food platter and a couple of beers to gulp down.  Some youngsters had also dropped in and they were having a good time doing the karaoke. One girl in particular would somehow force herself on the microphone and sing just one song…Summer of Sixty-Nine…a song the old man could also relate to. Despite the noise and music all around, the man dozed off in his easy-chair at the shack and, by the time he opened his eyes, evening was setting in. He once more diligently picked up his book and this time went closer to the water that had calmed down. He sat down and opened his book that now had only a few pages left to finish. With the sun beating down gently and the cool breeze blowing on his face, the old man loved this time the best. Soon he wrapped up his book and saw another couple in their fifties. While the man, with a receding hairline, kept wading into the water till his knees went wet, the lady, with short salt and pepper hair, kept shouting on the shore asking him to return quickly. It looked quite funny to the old man now. He took out his camera and took a few shots of the couple having fun on the beach. He then noticed that the woman stood still and looked straight at the sun slowly softening by the minute and going down the horizon. She was enjoying the sunset more than the water kissing her feet. The man suddenly went emotional as he saw the woman on the shore, looking at the setting sun. He took a few pictures of her silhouette and remembered an important part of his life story.

They had been to Kovalam and were staying in a good resort overlooking the sea. Every evening, his better half refused to go anywhere. She would sit down at a high point overlooking the sea and spend an hour every evening watching the setting sun. She loved this time of the day the most and often spoke how the sunlight in the morning differed from that of the evening. The last bright orange glow was a sight she would wait for. She said this was the ‘godhuli lagna’ or that time of the day when the cattle would return home and, in the olden days, parents would bring out the would-be brides to the prospective grooms and their families as, in the soft glow of evening light, the young maidens would look the brightest and prettiest. She would even take pictures of this hour of day from her high rise flat in Mumbai and complain about the multitude of high-rise buildings that kept cropping up around their house, obstructing her view of the horizon and the setting sun.

The old man put his book and the camera down and walked to the point where the water was touching his feet. He folded his arms tight and looked at the sea before him and wondered what the sea meant to him…was it an endless mass of water, fearful and deep or a place that was beckoning him to ride the waves and see the world beyond or was it that with every incoming wave, a part of his life’s story was unwinding and taking him into his beautiful past. He walked back to his hotel room and started enjoying the photographs he had clicked and told himself what a beautiful day it had been…a good book to read, good food and drinks to go with it, lovely people on the beach, water fast, furious and gentle flowing in and out and a plentitude of happy memories. What more could he want from life…!

SS 

Return of Poirot

It was around seven in the evening, near the French Memorial, a number of tourists were taking pictures. One man stood out in the crowd. He was a portly man in his sixties, wearing waist coat, overcoat and loose-fitting trousers, who had much resemblance to a penguin and looked completely out of place. Even more strange were his upwardly curled moustache and many a tourist thronged to take selfies with him. The man rudely brushed them aside and walked into the huge French Consulate with the guard standing at the gate giving him a tight salute. The gentleman went straight to his room and dialed a number…

Yes, I have reached Puducherry and I shall be here for the next two days. Hopefully it would be enough to solve the death of Francois Martin, a French citizen, who had come here on a vacation. I shall keep you posted with the developments and now I must take leave for my dinner.

Thank you, Monsieur Poirot…said the voice on the other side…let me just give you a brief about the place and the incident about which the local police have been informed and they will give you full cooperation in the case.

Ok, please go ahead but keep the brief, very brief.

You see Monsieur, Puducherry, as the locals now call Pondicherry, comprises of the erstwhile French colonies of Puducherry, Karaikal, Mahe and Yanam. While Puducherry and Karaikal regions are in Tamil Nadu, Mahe is in Kerala and Yanam is in Andhra Pradesh. The foundation of present-day Pondicherry was laid in the year 1673 after the “La Compagnie française des Indes orientales” (French East India Company) successfully obtained farman from the Qiladar of Valikondapurarm under the Sultan of Bijapur. During the French Revolution in the year 1793 the British East India Company took control of the region but returned it to the French East India Company in 1814. When India gained independence in 1947, Pondicherry remained a French enclave. On a de facto basis, the local bureaucracy had been united with India’s on 1 November 1954 and the de jure union of French India with the Indian Union took place in the year 1963. Puducherry is the Tamil interpretation of "new town" and mainly derives from "Poduke", the name of the marketplace or "port town" for Roman trade in the 1st century AD.

Merci, my friend, I have had enough history for a single day. Now am off to meet the cops.

Poirot walked into the police station nearby. He was shown the post mortem report which clearly showed Francois Martin had been knifed by multiple people. Poirot had a good look at the shapes and sizes of the cuts inflicted, he agreed with the police that at least there were four people if not more who were involved in this brutal murder of a French nobleman. He then checked the plastic bag containing some knives and other items recovered by the cops for a long time and then a smile appeared on his face.

Merci…I am hungry now. The investigation can wait but not my food.

The man once again took to his feet and walked through the heavily crowded boulevard next to the Rock Beach, saw the statues of Gandhi and Nehru, before entering the Coromandel Café at La Maison Rose.This pink-coloured villa on Romain Rolland Street was once the home of a French judge. Poirot had heard a lot about this exotic place and wanted to enjoy some good food, some Indian and some French, with the finest wine. He spoke to one of the waiters and ordered a crispy prawn starter and fillet steaks and beef tenderloin for the main course. He loved the ambience and the food and the wine collection truly surprised him. No wonder this place ranked among the best restaurants of the world. He spoke to the person serving for some time, tipped him handsomely before leaving for the consulate.

Next morning Monsieur Poirot woke up early, got into his comfortable running shoes and clothes and refused to eat the food served at the consulate. Instead, he checked his map and started following the narrow streets of the French town before reaching 123 Bussy Street where he looked up at the board and smiled...Baker Street, French Delicacies Concept Store. He looked at the counter with varieties of croissants, cakes and pastries kept tastefully. The man could not hide his happiness as he started chatting with the man behind the counter in French. By the time the talk ended, the man had put strawberry pie, chocolate eclairs, baguette, muffin and quiche on a tray before ordering for cold coffee. A swipe of the credit card was all he needed before relishing the delicacies. The other people in the store were all looking at the strange man who seemed to have an insatiable appetite and was relishing every morsel.

Aurobindo Ashram

With his tank full, Poirot now explored the French town, the colourful houses, carved doors and narrow streets. The paintings on the walls of the houses were eye catching. He stopped at various points to read the names of houses, streets, public buildings, banks written in French- Petit Palais, Bibliotheque Publique, Pompiers de Puducherry, Rue Dumas, Banque de l’Inde- the detective smiled and said to himself c’est incroyable!  His first stop was the famed Aurobindo Ashram where he reluctantly took off his shoes and switched off his mobile before entering the sacred space. Under a big tree was a floral decoration on what appeared to be the final resting place of Shree Aurobindo. He saw a number of people going down on their knees, and with closed eyes and folded hands saying their prayers. After taking a round of the cemetery, a large section of people would go and find a place nearby to sit down and meditate. Poirot, too, sat like the others but soon realized that his mind was busy thinking about Martin’s murder, the plot and the perpetrators. He stood up and walked around the book store before going out of the ashram. The ashram appeared huge from the exterior but only a very small part was kept open for visitors, which Poirot found slightly disappointing.

Notre Dame Des Anges- 1738

After walking around the place that was crowded with tourists, most of whom were either making videos, taking pictures of themselves standing before the doors and wall motifs of the heritage houses or were busy chatting on their mobiles continuously. In search for some peace, Poirot went to the Rock Beach again and he stood there for a long time admiring the white sands and the blue sea. He wanted to go to the place where the waves crashed against the rocks but the policemen stationed were very alert and started blowing their whistle like the referee on a football pitch…. that’s a foul…stop!

Monsieur Poirot, Stop!

It was now almost lunch time and the detective needed another round of some special dish that Puducherry had to offer. He knew the next destination on his food voyage… Villa Shanti on Rue Suffren. The name sounded very Indian but Poirot knew the food served there was genuinely authentic French. He took the best seat in the centre of the courtyard under the shade of the trees with the sun blazing down. He was quite enjoying the sunny weather at a time when most of Europe was enveloped in a complete cover of snow. He ordered for a round of red wine and for food, as usual, he went overboard with a roasted fish with ratatouille, grilled beef tenderloin and chicken risotto. While ordering, he spoke at length with the floor manager there, possibly to give him an idea of how he preferred the dishes to be prepared. Don’t ask how, but the man devoured every bit of the food served till the last bite and the other guests and people serving were all in awe. Once again, he tipped the person well and walked out wiping his mouth with his silk handkerchief.

Villa Shanti

Poirot never slept in the afternoon and so he booked a cab and went off to see Auroville which was quite some distance away. After getting off the cab, he followed the walking trail to the golden globe like structure called the Matri Mandir which he saw from almost half a kilometre away. He felt cheated somewhat for he thought he would see a wonderful village full of people, living a peaceful life of meditation and spiritualism. Fortunately, he was given a lift to the pick-up point in a bus which saved him the trouble of doing the long walk back. On his way back, he stopped at the Aurovillie Bakery and Café for some hot coffee, croissant and cake and he also picked up a few varieties of cheese from the store nearby.

Matri Mandir

Serenity Beach

He ended the day by going to the windy Serenity Beach where he enjoyed a round of peace and tranquility as he saw the sun go down. He sat there on the black rocks, thinking about the mystery he had come to solve. He now had a clear picture of the case which meant that he could now go back to the room after another sumptuous meal and sleep well. For a change, Poirot went to a place that was on the outskirts of the heritage town and was serving drinks more than the food. This was Catamaran Brewing Co which looked quite dark and had loud music playing. He was in a celebratory mood tonight and called for the taster set of six beers…all different and unique. With that he called for two local starters, a plate of burnt garlic prawns and barbequed bacon wrapped chicken sausages. On reaching home, the happy detective sent out messages to a host of people he had met at Pondy.

Catamaran Brewing Co

Next morning, Poirot reached the Chunnambar Boat Club well in time and asked his driver and the crew of the boat he had chartered to unload and shift the champagne bottles and food packets from his car to the waiting boat. Slowly a crowd of twenty odd people arrived, all had a surprised look on their faces when the detective spoke up… Thank you all for coming at such a short notice. Since I will be flying back home later tonight, I wanted to thank you all for all the hospitality extended during my stay in this place that is ranked among the top three travel destinations by Lonely Planet. And of course, I will also tell you about the murder I had come to investigate, a case that I have now cracked.

Chunnambar River

People were startled at his last announcement and started looking at each other, who could be the murderer among them. They were even more worried that they saw in their midst a couple of cops with their funny red top including Inspector Selvan whom the locals feared. But now there was no going back and they boarded the finest boat on the jetty that Poirot had hired for the picnic and one that fluttered both Indian and French flags. As the boat started to slowly surge ahead and picked up speed, a few waiters appeared who went around handing the guests glasses of best champagne that had been flown in from France by the famous detective. With a glass in hand, Poirot now took the centre-stage and rang a bell to catch everyone’s attention.

Ladies and Gentlemen, I have an announcement to make and am requesting Inspector Selvan to come beside me. I will be calling out four names, each of them should step ahead for they are responsible for my coming here. May I also warn these four people not to make any attempts at escaping as Inspector Selvan has his cop, disguised as tourists, in the other boats in the river around you.  And now here goes the list… Sukumaran from Coromandel Café, Jean of Baker Street, Jackie from Auroville Bakery and Café and Govindan from Villa Shanti…

The four men reluctantly came forward and each one of them repeatedly said that they did not know anyone called Francois Martin, leave alone murdering him. Inspector Selvan and his two men made a circle around the four named convicts with their hands, when Poirot started laughing aloud.

Don’t worry gentlemen, you are all safe. Francois Martin was the first Governor of French East India Company in 1673 and yes, he is long dead. I came here because the French chefs in Paris had complained that the chefs of Pondicherry were giving French cuisine a bad name. They connected with the local French consulate and sent me here to investigate if anyone was not cooking French food in the authentic traditional way. Those people should be warned and their establishments closed. The so-called forensic evidence bag contained nothing but items of food and cutlery from these four famous eateries here. I must, however, confess that I have tasted food in many French colonies of the world but the food the four chefs serve is amongst the best. I apologise for my hiding the true reasons of my visit and on behalf of all the Michelin Star Chefs of Paris, I am extending an invitation to Sukumaran, Jean, Jackie and Govindan on a seven-night all expenses paid stay in Paris. Congratulations and now enjoy the Paradise Beach.

Paradise Beach

SS

NB. All names used at fictitious.

Mahakumbh

The other night I downed a double Patiala peg neat and walked up to my one and only wife to, finally, say something that I had been holding back for many a month…. I want to go to the Mahakumbh at Prayagraj and want you to accompany me.

What followed was a stampede where the casualty was of one poor soul, that is me.  Here’s some censored and edited extracts of the fateful night.

Why do you want to go to Mahakumbh?

I want to take a dip there.

Dip…did you say dip? Do you know that your financial portfolio has taken its biggest dip? You’re in deep sh*t! Do you know the airfare from Mumbai to Prayagraj is fifty thousand one way? You are willing to blow away a lakh of money on airfare alone to take a dip. That is ok with you, but when I ask you to buy me a Kanjeevaram from Nalli’s, your face takes a dip and suddenly you remember all the outstanding payments.  Anyway, do you really have to go there for the dip? Have the seven lakes surrounding Mumbai dried up and you don’t have enough water coming from the shower that you have to go so far for a dip?

I did not know which question to answer first. I therefore took the path that I felt would pave the way for my departure easy and smooth and said that the BMC water at home cleanses my body but I want to cleanse my soul. The water of River Ganga is the holiest of all waters of the world and a dip there during Mahakumbh will surely help to turn over a new leaf, a new clean and good chapter in my life.

Oh, a new and changed man is what you want to become. And what do you plan to do after that because if you surely do change by becoming an honest insurance claims consultant who will no longer make money from getting the wrongful claims settled, then you will be a misfit in this current role. Maybe, you have plan to join one of the Akharas of sadhus and babas post the dip.

Having to fight every night in the akhara at home with this one almighty pehelwan who surely must have genetic connection with the famous Phogat sisters. She not just beats me but thrashes me just like the dhobis do while washing away the dirt from heavy clothes… scrub… heave..splash and bang on the stone slab till I beg for mercy. Yes, she is right, why not go to the Sangam and after the holy bath, become an ascetic, join one of the Naga akharas and never return home. But how could I say all this to her at such a juncture, so I just stood meekly and smiled sheepishly.

So, you think what I am saying is funny…your smile says it all. You will go there and join Kinnar Akhara because Mamta Kulkarni has signed up there. You think she will sing and dance for you there under some waterfall and you will keep seeing her as you saw Mandakini in the Raj Kapoor movie. Do you realise how easily you will get caught being a peeping Tom with just leaves to cover your vitals? They will make a kinnar out of you in no time.

I think you are going beyond the limits of civility. Please control yourself.

Control…I should control myself…or what? And why do you want me to accompany you? You are hoping that I will get lost in the crowds there. Forget it. Yogi ji has made perfect arrangements this time. He has said not one Ram-Shyam and Karan-Arjun scene will get repeated. Everyone going there is being given QR codes, RIFD enabled wristbands and digital ‘lost and found’ camps to reunite people who accidentally or intentionally get lost.

Neither for Mamta’s sake and nor for any personal gain but I have come to conclude that it is now time for me to take sanyas. I have seen brahmacharya and then grihastya ashrams. Lately, I have also experienced vanaprastha ashram as well and so it is logical that I now go into the last stage of cycle of life early. Who knows when the next Kumbha happens after twelve yeasr, you may find me riding into the mela placed atop an elephant with a trishul in one hand and ash smeared all over my face and body?

So now I know why our house gave out a strange smell whenever I returned from outside, leaving you alone. You have been smoking hashish behind my back and planning for this encounter with me…haan…I will in no time bring you out of this narcotic spell and illusion of living a spiritual life away from home in a world where I do not exist…

Are you out of your mind? I have not even smoked a cigarette and you are accusing me of smoking hash! How could you even think like that? Chhi chhi!

Oh, so it is my thinking which is gross and what about this nut head of yours that keeps throwing up insane ideas and you start jumping without thinking about us? You want to become a sadhu baba… and where do you suppose you will go and live?

I will go where the other sadhus go…maybe deep into the jungle or even atop mountains. I will adopt their way of life.

You can’t stay one meal without meat or fish and you want me to believe that you will roam from place to place and survive on fruits and vegetables?

The big akharas have their big ashrams which have kitchens and they have benefactors who fund them for their activities.

Have you already given away your pension fund in favour of the akharas? I am sure that you would have parted with your monies and are planning to run away from here leaving us with empty bank balances and to fend for ourselves on a day to day basis.

I have not done anything of this sort. In fact, I have made my will and signed off everything thing in your sole name. I will not be taking my wallet or my credit card.

Will you leave behind your PAN and Aadhar card as well?

Yes, for I will have no use for them in the new life. I will get a new name and identity which will bear no resemblance to my current name, look and address that is there on my Aadhar card. Since I will have no taxable income, my PAN can be thrown into the Mithi River. I will get to live a bindaas life, singing bhajans in praise of Bhole Baba and dancing to the tune of the damru.

Quite a transformation, I must say, from Chole Bhature to Bhole Baba! You cannot walk five minutes barefoot on the lawn outside and  from now on you will  move around bare foot, singing and dancing….my foot! Just see the number of shoes you have…you could put Imelda Marcos to shame and now you wish to renounce everything and become a dancing minstrel.

Believe me, I have thought through this for almost a year since my superannuation and I wish to follow my heart now. I have done all my duty both at work and home and now is the time to be myself.

Will you be carrying your mobile phone with you, just in case we need to speak to you for something?

No, I will not carry the phone. That is one more reason why I wish to go away from this world of WhatsApp, FB and Insta. I am hooked on to these for hours together and there is no way I seem to get free from these worldly clutches. This will be my salvation from Moh, Maya and Mobile.

Meanwhile, a last piece of warning… do you know how cold the water there will be? You need the geyser even in Mumbai summers and are now willing to take a plunge into freezing cold water at Mahakumbh.

The Lord will give me the strength.

Will he also give you Dolo?

Who needs Dolo…just chant Bhamm Bhamm Bolo and all your pains and ailments will vanish.

Will you be coming to sign your life certificates every year or else all your pension and annuities will go abegging?

Hmmm…had not thought of that…what else could be a problem? I shall bequeath them all to you before I leave.

Your passport comes up for renewal. I have heard the big sadhus are invited overseas quite frequently.

Oops…that’s true. But surely, I will soon have supernatural powers to fly away to any place without passport and visa.

How will you watch Man U matches in the jungle?

That’s not a problem because they have been playing badly for many years now and whenever I watch, they lose. Maybe, my going away and not watching them play will do them some good.

Ok, since you are so determined to go and lead the life of a sanyasi, I will let you go but remember once you step outside the Lakshman Rekha of this house, your entry will be banned forever. 

Bhamm Bhamm Bhole!

SS

NB. Pictures courtesy internet